Lughnasadh

Introduction

This is one of my first poems and was written specifically for a Druid Lughnasadh (Lammas) ritual and has since also been used at Wiccan and Unitarian rituals.

Lughnasadh

Loaf mass tide, the harvest reap,

The Corn king he is dead.

Feast of plenty among the rigs,

Give thanks the Corn king’s bread.

Lammas tide, we’ll drink a toast,

To the dolly, the spirit of the corn.

Gather the grain to make the loaf,

John Barleycorn shall be reborn.

Copyright Andrew Rea Lughnasadh 2006

The Sceadugengan

Introduction

From Beowulf line 702: 'Com on wanre niht scriðan sceadugenga'.

In the colourless (wan) night came gliding (or creeping) the shadow goer (or shadow walker).

This passage from Beowulf refers to the monster Grendel.

Sceadugengan or "shadow-goer", (pronounced: shay-ah duh gen-ghan) (Singular: Sceadugenga), from Old English sceaduwe (shadow) and gan (to go).

Other extracts from Beowulf:

Line 159 …..but the retch was persecuting

The dark death shade warriors old and young;

He lay in wait and set snares, in the endless night he held

The misty moors; men may say not

where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Thus many offences that foe of mankind,

That terrible lone traveler…

649 ….and darkening night all over,

Shadow-helm’s shapes came slivering,

Black beneath the skies.

710 He came from the moor, under hills of mist.

The Sceadugengan

Came shadows through grey night striding,

Through the dark wood forest gliding,

Formless shapes their outline hiding,

Silent Sceadugenga.

What manor of beast alive or dead,

They dwell in forests of dark dread,

On brave shield maidens be they fed,

The swift Sceadugenga.

On shadow dark gloomy grey nights,

Without a form these beastly wights,

Going about their silent rites,

Elf or Sceadugenga.

But who hast seen them in the face,

Or chasing prey at their fast pace,

Or at their nest in their full grace,

The Sceadugengan.

Only brave men with charms showing,

On their tunics pouches sowing,

Spells and galdors to their knowing,

Risk the Sceadugenga.

Distant sounds of branches snapping,

Pitter patter stealthily tapping,

Slowly with thine spirit sapping,

Go the sceadugengan.

Who dares to go at dark of moon,

With shadows shifting into doom,

Guarded with that sacred rune,

The spell casting genga.

Swiftly moving gliding shadows,

Speeding faster than thine arrows,

Seeking the unguarded hallows,

Spector Sceadudenga.

In shadows spirits come and go,

Hel's cold dark demons from below,

As they do reap so shall they sow,

Come sceadugengan.

At deepest dark of night they meet,

Beware that thee do not them greet,

or thee may well become their meat,

Hungry sceadugengan.

Copyright Andrew Rea July 2014

T'Rowan Poem (or Oh eck I'm on' t'moors bah tat)

Background folklore:
In Yorkshire, the second of May was called ‘Witchwood(rowan) Day’, when rowan pieces were taken and fixed over the door, for the head of the bed and so on. They must be cut with a household knife from a tree the cutter had never seen before. It must be taken home by a different route from the one taken to get there.

A branch of rowan in the bed prevented the occupant from being hag ridden [i.e. having nightmares caused by the Night Hag] while a piece placed on the pillow kept both evil spirits and witches away.

This poem attempts to portray the antics of a Yorkshire man, of no fixed intelligence, attempt to use this tree to rid him of his nightmares.

Useful expressions:Bah tat - without hat

Pop me clogs - die
Lass - wife
Go, t' foot of stairs - be surprised
A|fooar - before
To ride bear-arsed t'brat-fud on that - a knife or chisel that is very blunt
Fell, beck an dale - moor, stream and hill
O-erm - home
Befuddled - confused
By t'rack o'th'eye - without the use of a measure
N'matter - no difference
Tak - take
Any road up - in any case
Nowt but spit an glue - not very well made
Neither nowt nor summat - neither nothing nor something, ie it's useless.

T'Rowan Poem  (or Oh eck I'm on' t'moors bah tat)

I had nightmares, about an old nag,

After so many nights, being ridden by ’hag.

I were barely middlin, and gone t'dogs,

And were feeling that, I might pop me clogs.

Now I've herd that, a branch o’ rowan tree,

In’t bed will keep nightmares, away from thee.

Lass she'll go, t' foot of stairs wi dogs!

If owt like, will stop me popping me clogs.

Now t’ second of May, be Witchwood Day,

So I gang t'fetch rowan, feeling bit gay.

Then I gang down t’ gate, feeling bit pore,

T' get a knife, I ad’nt seen afooar.

Well I went t’ Jack, an ee gave me one,

A knife that is! It were all blunt an done.

I could ride bear-arsed t'brat-fud on that,

But Jack ee ses nowt, ee just grinned an sat.

Nah then I'm oft t'fells, t'find 'rowan tree,

So oft I gang, t'cut branches three.

Oft I gang over, t'fell, beck an dale,

If ever I get o-erm, I'll tell thee a tail.

  

A proper witchwood, growing from out 'rock.

By 'eck, it were champion, proud as a... thingy in't front.

Wi blunt knife in't and, I climbed up quite high,

I cut two fine twigs, by t'rack o'th'eye.

I bound twigs wi care, wi red thread t' form 'cross,

Of right equal length, then in't bag did toss.

Wi spare twig f 'bed, I must be mad as 'hatter,

It were same length, near as makes n'matter.

Well it's important, to tak new path o-erm,

But I only knew, one way back t'roam.

So I spun round, an went t'way I faced,

Befuddled wi hast, in't fells I raced.

Six hour later, I found village again,

Arf o which I were, trudging in't rain.

Lass she told me that, I must be insane,

And any road up, it were all in vain.

But over 'door I laid, witchwood cross t'rest,

When me lass saw it, she were well impressed.

"It looks nowt but spit an glue" ses she. Oh!

"It’s neither nowt nor summat y know"! Oh!

Thought t' give er ride, on 'white handled knife,

Bear-arsed t'brat-fud an back, but feeling rife.

I put spare sprig on, er pillow at 'head,

Perhaps t'night, I won't ave hag in't bed.

Copyright Andrew Rea Litha 2014

Through the Ash Tree

Introduction

This poem expands on the traditional belief that the ash tree has healing and strengthening powers. Ash sap was given to babies to make them strong and a sick baby could be passed three times deosil (clockwise) through a split ash sapling. The sapling was then bound up and if it went on to grow strong then so would the child. Country folk therefore often had their own carefully guarded ash tree.

I have chosen to set the event at the break of dawn as liminal moments were thought to have the strongest magical power and also the symbolic association between a new life and dawn.

Middengeard was one of the nine worlds, the one where people lived.

Leechcraft from leech (physician) referred to a healers craft. A galdor was a charm or spell which was sung, often to accompany a herbal remedy or other healing practice.

The name Aelfric derives from elf and power, so denotes someone with the power of an elf.

Through the Ash Tree

In dead of dark night, before break of dawn,

Into the wild wood, past tall bearded corn.

Along the deep track, by the brook babbling,

Three times deosil, through split ash sapling.

Upon a moist morn, soft chanting like bard,

In realm of spirit, misty Middangeard.

Black birds are about, conjuring the dawn,

With knife in her hand, and her first babe born.

Small leaves on trees, didst quiver and shiver,

Lifting her eyes looking, hither and thither.

She cut with great care, that it not wither,

The ash on the bank, to side of the river.

She uses this leechcraft, so he be full hale,

Passed down from before, it wilt never fail.

She passed the babe though, split tree three times round,

This galdor she sung, was no common sound.

Crowned with fairy cowl, was his lucky head,

Last laying him down, on a mossy bed.

With magical craft, enchanted is he,

Elfin power in name, Aelfric to be.

In height of summer, sunshine wilt burn bright,

Spell crafting by singing from darkest night.

As still morning mist, did it slowly fade,

Finally the spell, was solemnly laid.

Copyright Andrew Rea May 2014

A charm against dweorh

Introduction

This is a simple poetic rending of the Spider Spell to banish a dwarf from With Dweorgh II (Against a Dwarf II) from the Lacnunga manuscript. (see also Charming a Dwarf July 2013 and for a full discussion the introduction to Charming a Dwarf also posted in July 2013.
The charm begins with the building of an amulet made of wafers. When hanging the amulet, you must sing a Spider spell charm.                      

Here cometh hither, a creature stalked past,
Had his bridle held tight, in his hand fast,

He said that thee beest, his own mare,
He laid for thee, his bond on thine neck there,

They beganeth, from the land to moveth,
As quickly as from the land, they cameth,

Then thine limbs, beganeth to suffer cold,
Then came stalking, the fever's sister bold,

She sworeth the oaths, and maketh an end,

Never this to the sick one, doth thee unmend,

Nor the one who, this charm might implore,
Or who kneweth how, to sing this galdor.

So mote it be.

A-Maying

Introduction

This poem explores the practice of gathering a basket of flowers on the morning of May Day  in the villages. A practice that was common up until Victorian times.

A-Maying

Young ladies to, celebrate The May,

Out early morn, finding a bouquet.

Their families' homes. to soon adorn,

Gathering May baskets, in the corn.

Young wenches with, young lads doth play,

And laugh and court, in meadows stray.

On a warm and sunny, spring day such deeds,

May simply be guessed, among the meads.

In every bush, a song be’est made,

The landscapes beauty, is now laid.

In some secrete place, within the field,

Young men and maidens, willingly yield.

Oft ten maiden, who went to the May,

Nine returned home, with infant that day.

Its best be said: ‘courtship bed and wed’,

Else ‘grass widows’ women, be thee instead.

In every marriage, it be’est said,

In Avalon’s fields, bed precedes wed.

Love poems, to mistresses be writ,

Before to wenches, they doth commit.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2008

May (Thrimilci)

Introduction

This poem is one that was inspired by the writings of Saint Bede.

Thrimilci means three milkings and is a reference to the extra milking that could be obtained from this month into the summer. The eve May Day also called Wulpurgis was one of the two most powerful nights of the year for magic, the other being the eve of All Hallows. The poem looks at the way the May might have been celebrated in the local chieftain’s hall, in Saxon times these celebrations would have continued until dawn, lasting anything up to 16 hours, oh and by the way the drinking cups had a pointed bottom so you could only put them down when empty.

May (Thrimilci)

Bone fires of, Wulpurgis night,

Around fires, burning so bright.

Frigg the goddess, of love and mirth,

Lets Celebrate, summer's rebirth.

Magic power at, it's greatest height,

Goddess of lust, for summer’s rite.

Wife of Woden, down in yon field,

Before goddess, thee be'est kneeled.

Cows be milked now, three times a day,

Bountiful times, we thank thee Frey.

Flowers from fields, gathered for home,

Fellers and maidens, faithfully roam.

High halls heave with, men and wenches,

Mead-cups floweth, round long benches.

Laughter music, breaking baked bread,

Wassail me boys, a whole hogshead.

Trencher of food, in with the fold,

Heroic stories, to be'est told.

Drink hail to thee, join in the feast,

Now is the time,to release the beast.

The sun wilt soon, rise in the east,

A full mead cup, until dawn at least.

Stack the benches, lay on reed floor,

Those traditions, of days of yore.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2009 revised Dec 2012